


Man of von Aegir

by MooeyDooey



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Chapter count may change, Does this count as an amnesia-fic? kind of probably, Happy Ending, I am not Ferdiand von Aegir, M/M, Musical references galore, Post A support pre A+ support, Post Timeskip, Potential Spoilers, brief guest appearances by all of the black eagles and then some, mostly comedy and fluff, you dont need a encylopedic knowledge of Man of La Mancha to appreciate the ferbies here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-14 23:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooeyDooey/pseuds/MooeyDooey
Summary: “... has he… gone insane?” Hubert asked, finding no other viable explanation.During the entirety of this interaction, Manuela had been present in the room. She had been off to the side, sitting at her desk, head resting glumly in her hands while Dorothea and Marianne attempted to wrangle Ferdinand. It was only after Hubert’s question that she spoke up, to offer her professional opinion on the matter.“He thinks he’s Don Quixote,” she said, bluntly.- - - - - - - -Ferdinand, in the midst of battle, suffers a terrible knock to the head. When he awakens, he becomes convinced that he is not the general of an Adrestian army, but rather the noble and pure hearted knight named 'Don Quixote' from a popular Adrestian opera.Hubert is tasked with looking after the man, until he regains his memory.





	1. I, Don Quixote

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the fanfic where Ferdinand cannot be convinced that he is Ferdinand von Aegir 
> 
> To help out anyone who isn’t familiar with Man of la Mancha, Here’s a short synopsis to catch you up with the references you’ll be seeing in this fic! 
> 
> Man of la Mancha is a musical, based off of the book ‘The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha’. The musical starts with a playwright, who is arrested by the Spanish inquisition for crimes against the church. In order to prove his innocence, the man puts on a play at the prison, using the other prisoners as actors in the production. The play tells the story of an elderly man named Alonso Quixano. This man reads too many chivalrous romance stories, and thus becomes convinced that he is not an old man, but a noble knight-errant by the name of Don Quixote. He recruits his manservant, Sancho Panza, as his “squire”, and sets off on a quest to revive chivalry and to become a fully fledged knight. At one point he comes across a tavern, and becomes convinced that Aldonza, one of the serving girls and part time prostitute working there, is actually “Dulcinea”, the love of his life to whom he has sworn eternal faith and loyalty. 
> 
> NOTES:  
\- Though Man of la Mancha is a musical, it has been changed to an opera in this fanfic. The title has also been changed to “The Knight of the Windmill”.  
\- I have considered changing the names of the characters, to make them sound more “Adrestian” (i.e. austrian/german), but ultimately decided against it. The actual play itself isnt a spanish play, but a play by an American playright about Spanish characters. So it seemed more fitting to have it be a Adrestian opera about foreign characters, than an Adrestian opera about Adrestian characters.  
\- For people who have not seen Man of La Mancha, and want to check it out after reading this fic! I DO highly recommend it, but I will give you a content warning that this fic does not go NEARLY as dark as the musical does. There is some sexual violence in the musical, so if that sort of content makes you too uncomfortable I’d tell you not to watch it. This fic will contain no sexual violence, or mention of that scene from the musical.  
\- APOLOGIES FOR ANY MISTAKES YOU MAY FIND this was not beta-read because I am a fool and all my beta-reading regulars are either busy or too early in the game to not be spoiled 
> 
> Crimson flower route, post A support, pre A+ support.
> 
> Chapter count may change! For now it's scheduled for 7/8 chapters, but a few more MIGHT sneak their way in there if I need to break up the scenes to make it easier to read.

It was not unusual for members of the Black Eagle Strike Force to fight in small battles. 

Such a thing was a regular occurrence. In order to keep their forces balanced, the Professor would gather a handful of their allies who needed to hone their skills, and set out from Garreg Mach with one or two of her best generals. 

They were always simple day trips, fighting small groups of bandits or beasts that plagued the areas around the former academy. Those who needed the experience were moved to the front of the lines, while the more sure-footed fighters stayed close behind, ready to swoop in and provide assistance should the need arise. 

Nothing bad ever happened on these missions. 

Which is what left Hubert so surprised on one ordinary day, when a common foot-soldier rushed into the library, out of breath and frantic. 

“Lord von Vestra! Sir, your presence is needed immediately in the council room,” the woman said, bowing deeply once her presence had been acknowledged by Hubert. “Emperor Edelgard has sent for you. She said that it is urgent,” the soldier added. 

Hubert wasted no time. He never did, when directly summoned by his lady. He closed his books, not bothering to return them to their rightful places on the shelves before he stood up from his seat, and exited the library. 

It was a short walk to the council room, made faster by the length of Hubert’s strides. 

Upon his arrival, there were several people already within the room. 

There was Edelgard, the Professor, Linhardt, Lysithea, Sylvain, and Bernadetta. The lot of them all stood around one another, and each member looked terribly concerned. They all looked up when Hubert burst through the doors, immediately making room for him to join their conversation. 

“Emperor Edelgard, I’ve received word that my presence was urgently required,” Hubert commented. “Are we under attack?” he asked, though the words sounded unreasonable as soon as they left his mouth. 

If they had been under attack, there would have been soldiers already moving into position. Bernadetta would have already been on her way to her post in the guard towers, were their ballistas were located, and Sylvain would surely have already been running orders to their foot soldiers. 

It was too many people located in one room to be a direct emergency, but something terrible had still occurred. Hubert raked his mind for possibilities, but found none. He could only stand, and wait for a proper explanation. 

“No, we are not,” Edelgard answered him, confirming his suspicions on that front. “Our location remains secure. This concerns one of our friends. There’s been an accident,” she said. 

“It’s all my fault!” Bernadetta cried out, already beside herself with emotion. The poor thing was trembling, arms wrapped around herself as she desperately tried to calm down. “Stupid, _ stupid _ Bernie! If I had been paying more attention, I… I-I could have seen that ambush coming, so stupid! Idiot, terrible-” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sylvain insisted, trying to comfort his ally. “None of us saw those guys coming. Well, except Ferdinand.” 

Ferdinand. The name came up, but the cavalry man was suspiciously missing from the conversation. The observation filled Hubert with a sense of ominous dread. 

The Professor stepped forward, so she could properly fill Hubert in on all the details he did not have. 

“While we were out on our mission, we were ambushed from the left flank. Ferdinand was the only soldier within range who could stop the ambush before they could reach our healers. He successfully slowed the forces on his own, but he was knocked from his horse,” she explained. 

And there it was. The reason everyone was so distraught. If Hubert had any color in his face, it may have paled considerably. 

It was only a few short weeks ago that the two of them had spoken to one another in the dining hall. When Hubert had finally admitted that he saw Ferdinand as a valued ally. 

It had taken Hubert so long to come to that conclusion. Years of arguing back and forth and refusing to see eye to eye. How cruel, that the very moment the two of them had found common ground, the floor was torn out from under them. 

“Is he...” Hubert began, but could not bring himself to finish that sentence. 

“He is stable. In a sense,” Linhardt clarified. 

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean? A patient is either stable, or in critical condition,” Hubert snapped back. He had grown to accept Linhart’s dry wit over the years, but could not stomach it under the current circumstances. 

“Well, I would not categorize him as either momentarily, truth be told,” Linhardt added. “He is conscious. And he is able to eat and drink on his own, able to move around without assistance. But he is not acting like... himself.” 

“I saw what happened when he went down,” Sylvain cut in, trying to help explain the current circumstances. “The guy took a pretty good knock to the head when he landed on the ground. So he’s… uh. Well… a bit scrambled.” 

Hubert’s patience was clearly fading by the second, so Edelgard stepped forward, putting a hand gently on his arm. 

“It is difficult to explain,” she said, giving his arm a small reassuring squeeze. “It may be easier if you see it for yourself.” 

“I am inclined to agree,” said Hubert. 

Hubert was escorted over to the infirmary by Edelgard, Linhardt, and Byleth, while Sylvain and Lysithea stayed behind to continue consoling Bernadetta. 

The entire walk over, Hubert could not help but fret. Every single possibility raced through his mind of what condition he was about to find Ferdinand in. 

Was Ferdinand going to be mute? Unable to communicate his condition to anyone? Had he forgotten everything about Garreg Mach, about their friends and allies? Would he be smiling as usual, or would he look pained and tortured by an affliction no healer could cure? 

Hubert had mentally run through a list of common side effects of a concussion. He was mentally and emotionally prepared for any of the possible results. 

What he was not prepared for, was the scene the group walked in on. 

“-swear it to you, upon my honor! For how could I possibly rest, when the world is so full of cruelty and injustice? No! I will not rest, shall not stop, ‘til those who have wronged the innocent are properly punished!” 

Ferdinand was not lying down, halfway to death’s door, as Hubert had predicted. Instead he was standing, on top of the infirmary bed, as Marianne and Dorothea did their best to convince the man to settle down. 

He had a large tray in one hand, brandishing it like a shield, while his other hand held onto a long ruler that was clearly meant as a stand in for a proper sword. 

“Would you get down from there?!” Dorothea exclaimed, holding onto one of his arms, trying her hardest to lead the man back down until he was sitting properly on the bed. 

“Please, Ferdinand! It’s not safe!” Marianne joined in, trying to hold onto his other arm to steady the man, but said arm was being waved about too dramatically for her to be able to get a proper hold of. 

“Safety is no concern of mine, fair lady! I would gladly storm the den of ten thousand dragons for the sake of my duty!” Ferdinand replied, with a grandiose thrust of his ruler. 

“Ferdie! I swear-” Dorothea huffed out, before he tried another tactic. “You know, a _ true _ knight would listen to a lady’s request. Marianne has asked you ever so graciously to step down, do you intend to ignore her wishes?” 

That made Ferdinand gasp audibly. 

“Of course not!” he said, before he all but leapt from the bed, which caused both women even more concern than they had felt in the first place. 

Once he was on the floor, Ferdinand took a knee, placing one hand on his chest as he addressed them both. 

“You have my deepest apologies! It was never my intention to cause either of you grief. Your concern for my well-being is most courteous, and I treasure the sentiment!” he declared. 

It was at that moment that Dorothea noticed the new additions to the room, letting out a sigh of relief as the group entered. 

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” she said, turning her back to Ferdinand and stepping closer to the new arrivals. 

That gesture seemed to hurt Ferdinand, who suddenly had a look of heartbreak and woe on his features. 

“Have my actions angered you? If I have, you need only say the word, and I shall do anything to earn your forgiveness! Beautiful Dulcinea! For you, my love, I would tear the world in twain! I would climb to the highest mountain to see your smile. I would swim across any ocean for only one sweet word from your lips. I would battle several armies single handedly for your honor!” 

“That… won’t be necessary,” Dorothea replied, with the exhaustion of a woman who had been charged with taking care of a hundred hyperactive toddlers, and desperately needed a nap. 

Marianne stayed behind, desperately trying to convince Ferdinand to go back to bed, while Dorothea left them behind to speak to the group. 

“As you can see, he hasn’t calmed down since you left,” Dorothea said, addressing Edelgard. “He’s tried to run out of the room half a dozen times. The only way I’ve managed to get him to stay put is by telling him that we need a guardian to protect us from rogue scoundrels.” 

Hubert was finally able to see why the situation was so difficult to explain to a third party. Even with his personal observations, he found it hard to follow along with what exactly was happening. 

“... has he… gone insane?” Hubert asked, finding no other viable explanation. 

During the entirety of this interaction, Manuela had been present in the room. She had been off to the side, sitting at her desk, head resting glumly in her hands while Dorothea and Marianne attempted to wrangle Ferdinand. It was only after Hubert’s question that she spoke up, to offer her professional opinion on the matter. 

“He thinks he’s Don Quixote,” she said, bluntly. 

Marianne had just managed to get Ferdinand to sit on the bed. But as soon as the name was announced, he stood back up on his feet. “I am Don Quixote!” he exclaimed, searching once more for the ruler that Marianne had snuck out of his hands. 

“It’s the leading role of ‘_The Knight of the Windmill’ _,” Dorothea explained, unsure of how much knowledge Hubert had concerning Adrestian operas. “... Although, the leading role isn’t technically a knight. The lead is a playwright, who is telling a story about an old man who believes he is a knight. It’s all played by the same actor.” 

“I have not seen it myself, but I am familiar with the premise,” said Hubert, watching as Marianne struggled to reason with Ferdinand. “Can he recall anything about his life? About Adrestia, or the war?” 

Dorothea shook her head sadly. “No… at best, he seems to be able to recognize a few familiar faces. But he will only refer to them as characters from the story. He’s apparently decided that I am Dulcinea, and that Marianne is one of my fellow noble ladies.” 

“It’s not fair!” Manuela complained, slamming both of her fists on top of her desk. 

“Manuela, its okay. These things happen in battle,” Byleth said, moving to the other professor’s side in an attempt to comfort her. “Ferdinand will recover. We will find a way to-” 

“No, no. Not _ that _ ,” Manuela said, with a dismissive wave of one of her hands. “He’ll be fine. It’s not fair the Dorothea is Dulcinea! She would fill the role most beautifully, of course. But… I was in ‘_The Knight of the Windmill’ _ , back when I was at the opera. I _ played _ Aldonza! I may have even been the one starring in that role when Ferdinand saw it on stage. How am I not his Dulcinea?!” 

Absolutely no one in the room wanted to provide a response to that question. So Manuela slouched over, letting her cheek rest on top of her desk, eyeing a bottle of alcohol that sat on top of a cabinet at the side of the room, that would surely be opened and consumed in full by the end of the night by the distraught infirmary caretaker. 

“... Right. Well,” Edelgard finally said, taking initiative to move the conversation along. “As it stands, Ferdinand is not fit for battle. If this is truly a result of his head injury, the only thing we can do is try to make him rest, until his mind clears. He will have to be monitored at all times, to ensure his condition does not worsen,” she said. 

“And to make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble,” Dorothea added, rubbing at the sides of her head with a sigh. 

“As long as he keep him away from windmills, he should be fine,” said Hubert. This earned him a pointed glare from Dorothea, that heavily insinuated that Hubert had no idea just how difficult it was going to be to keep Ferdinand from attacking various innocent buildings. 

“It will require a great deal of effort from all of us. If we can, I would like to keep him in the infirmary as often as possible,” Edelgard added. “Manuela has agreed to supervise him at night, but she has other duties she must attend to during the day. Therefore… one of us will be required to look after him during her absence.” 

There was the slightest hint of hesitation to her voice, signaling that she knew her next announcement would not greatly celebrated. 

“That seems to be the wisest decision. Should Dorothea require any assistance, I would gladly offer her a few members of my batti-” Hubert began, but his words were cut off with a shake of the Professor’s head. 

“It can’t be Dorothea. I’ll be moving out on another mission tomorrow. She’s our only dancer, and I require her presence on the battlefield,” Byleth said. 

Hubert was starting to see where this line of conversation was going. He did not like it. 

“... then Linhardt. He is a healer, surely that’s a role well-suited to aiding Ferdinand’s recovery.”

“There’s no healing left to be done, only rest over time. And I’m afraid I don’t have the energy to keep up with Ferdinand’s… enthusiasm. He can out-run me too easily, I would never be able to catch him should he take off,” Linhardt said. 

Hubert started running through the rest of the eligible candidates, desperate for a proper suggestion. 

Marianne was already on the verge of tears from trying to keep Ferdinand in bed, even with Dorothea’s help in the matter. She was too soft, too gentle. 

Caspar would undoubtedly get swept along into Ferdinand’s charismatic tale, and would end up enabling his wild antics. 

Bernadetta got out much more often than she used to, but tasking her with anything so stressful would surely cause her poor heart too much grief. 

Sylvain was fairly competent, when he put his mind to something. But with Ferdinand out of commission he was the only skilled rider they had left amongst their generals. His time would also be needed on the battlefield. 

Petra, likewise, could certainly wrangle the man if need be, and would have the ability to hunt him down if he wandered off. But she was a wyvern rider, and the only flying unit they had in their arsenal. Another valuable member that could not be taken off the battlefield. 

Hubert pulled out the last stops he had available. 

“... Lysithea?” 

“Has only recently joined our forces. She needs experience,” Byleth said. 

“Hanneman, then. Surely Hanneman is responsible enough to look after him.” 

“He is not here. I’ve sent him to Enbarr, to search the libraries for any books that might have helpful information that will aide his crest research,” Edelgard explained. 

“Your assistance will only be required for a few days. Once we return from battle, someone else will step in to take over. We will take turns caring for him, until his ailment has passed,” Byleth promised. 

“I have my own work that requires my full attention,” Hubert argued. “I don’t know how you expect me to complete my duties while standing guard over him. There are mages to train, and I am overseeing the reconstruction of the chapel. I could not possibly-” 

“Hubert,” Edelgard said, silencing him with a single word. She had that look on her face. The look of a born and natural ruler, that meant whatever words she was about to say would hold a significant weight to them. 

“I know how important your work is. You have been my rock, your efforts have taken so many burdens off of my shoulders. But right now, at this moment, my greatest burden is Ferdinand’s recovery. He is an accomplished general. We shall need him by our side if we are to win this war. If not for his sake then… please. For my sake. Help him.” 

And there it was. The final straw. 

Hubert could slink his way out of most anything, but he could never refuse a direct request from Edelgard. 

He was trapped. Bound by duty. 

So he sighed, gave the room one more moment of silence (with Ferdinand’s passionate shouts still filling the background), and conceded. 

“... very well. If that is what you require of me, I am obliged to serve your wishes. I will look after him. Until someone more suited to the task is sent to relieve me of my duty, and no further.”

The moment Hubert had sealed that dark pact, a cry rang out from across the room. 

“Oh!!! Ferdinand, you mustn’t-” Marianne said, though her request fell upon deaf ears. 

Ferdinand had stepped first onto a chair, then onto the largest table in the room, waxing poetic about about protecting the weak. 

“For wherever there is someone in peril, I shall be there to defend them. Wherever there is hunger, I shall bring sustenance and nourishment. Wherever there is evil to be vanquished, I shall raise my sword, and strike it down!” Ferdinand shouted, shaking the table below him with the force of his grand gestures. 

The full room of occupants all moved at once (besides Linhardt, who was confident that the combined efforts of everyone else would be more than enough to wrangle the man, and Manuela, still too focused on her own woes to pick her head up from her desk). 

Byleth reached Ferdinand first. She hooked an arm around Ferdinand’s legs and picked the man off of the table, lifting him into the air so he could be placed back down on the floor where he belonged. Hubert, not strong enough to carry the man on his own like Byleth, but with a significant height advantage, steadied Ferdinand’s upper body so he did not tip over as he was transported. 

Once Ferdinand’s feet were safely on the floor, the man continued walking with no pause to regain his footing. He seamlessly went from being moved from the table to walking towards Linhardt, arms outstretched as he prepared for a friendly greeting. 

“My good man! Sancho, where have you been? I have been awake for-” Ferdinand began, before Linhardt interrupted. 

“Oh no. Not I, good sir. I am but a simple priest,” Linhardt said, with a dramatic bow of deceptive and false innocence. “Your loyal manservant is behind you.” 

Linhardt’s teasing earned him a harsh glare from both Edelgard and Dorothea, but the damage had already been done. Ferdinand spun on his heel, looking directly behind him. 

When Ferdinand first locked eyes with Hubert, he paused, uncertain. He narrowed his eyes, fists clenched at his sides, prepared for a fight. 

“The Enchanter?” he asked, warily. 

“No, no, no no,” Edelgard cut in, before that assumption could stick in Ferdinand’s mind. “The Enchanter is… many miles away. Very far. Off to the west.” 

“You don’t want to be the Enchanter,” Dorothea muttered to Hubert, leaning aside so she could speak to him without Ferdinand overhearing. “That’s Don Quixote’s arch nemesis.”

“Are you certain?” Ferdinand asked Edelgard, eyes scanning Hubert for any signs of trouble. “He does seem rather… enchanting.” 

That comment caused Edelgard to smirk lightly, unable to conceal her mirth at Ferdinand’s observation. 

“He does, doesn’t he? But no. That is not the Enchanter. That is…” she said, trying to find an appropriate replacement in the world of the knight of the windmill. 

Hubert sighed, realizing that Ferdinand would not listen to him until he stepped into a role that fit his current fantasies. With no where else to turn, and though it pained him greatly, he gave a short polite bow to the other man. 

“I am, for the time being, your humble servant,” Hubert said. 

Ferdinand’s face lit up once more, and the fists at his sides uncurled. His arms went out to his sides again, and he moved forward to properly greet Hubert. 

“Sancho! My good man!” he said, patting Hubert’s shoulders, then firmly grasping them. “Where have you been?” he asked. 

Ferdinand did not give Hubert any time to answer, getting hit my inspiration during a singular moment of silence. 

“Aha! I know, you must have been readying our steeds! Excellent work, Sancho, forward thinking as ever,” he said. 

Hubert directed a glare over Ferdinand’s shoulder to the other occupants in the room. Dorothea shrugged in his direction, Byleth mouthed a silent ‘Sorry’, and Edelgard looked pained at her inability to save Hubert from his fate. 

Linhardt did not seem terribly affected by Hubert’s plight. He gave Hubert a subtle thumbs up. Hubert did not appreciate the gesture. 

Ferdinand was off again in the next moment, moving around the room like a hyperactive fly, bouncing from place to place as he filled Hubert in on all of the work that was required of them. How the world had been left without heros for too long, how it was their duty to go forth and vanquish the plague of deceit and terror that had overcome humanity. 

The other occupants of the room slowly snuck away, until all that was left was Ferdinand, Hubert, and the woeful husk of Manuela still inconsolably hunched over her desk. 

“There is no time to spare!” Ferdinand exclaimed, walking circles around Hubert as the man sat glumly in a vacant chair, not bothering to try to follow Ferdinand’s movements with his eyes any longer. 

“The Enchanter has hidden himself from me, but he will surely get word soon that I am not at the height of my strength. We must set forth, and find the tools with which to defeat him. We must find the ancient relics of the Goddess, posthaste! To the east perhaps, then to the dreaded bogs of the southern swamps. We shall end our journey in the west, where I shall track the villain down, and smite him out of existence! Or else my name is not Don Quixote! Protector of the innocent, righter of wrongs, Lord of la-” 

‘_This is fine _’, Hubert assured himself, off in a world of his own. 

‘_It is only for a few days. He is out of his mind, but he is still Ferdinand. Ranting and raving, but still Ferdinand. I’ve gutted men with nothing but a rusted spoon. I have taken down entire fleets of pirates. I’ve faced a wyvern and tore out its still beating heart. How difficult could one man be? _’ he thought. 

“Have at thee!” Ferdinand shouted from the side of the room, followed by the distinct sound of a lamp crashing against stone tiles. 

Hubert put his head in his hands, and mourned for the inevitable loss of his own sanity. 


	2. I, Don Quixote, side B

Once upon a time, there was a man named Don Quixote. 

He was the noblest of heroes. A paragon of virtue, pure of spirit and heart. Both a gentleman and a deadly warrior, as skilled with a lance as he was with his words. He was a knight-errant, on a holy mission to bring justice to a world that so desperately needed it. Loyal and true, fair and determined, faithful servant of the Goddess’s everlasting grace. 

It was a fine and beautiful morning at the castle. Sunlight gently filtered into the knight-to-be’s room as he arose from his slumber, immediately blessed by the presence of a most saintly figure. 

The one and only Lady Dulcinea, accompanied by her good friend, Lady Marianne. 

(Don Quixote had never been acquainted with the second lady before, but found that Lady Marianne was most agreeable company. How could she not be? She was a trusted friend of Lady Dulcinea, and anything that his lady treasured was treasured by him in turn.)

For a moment, Don Quixote had been ashamed to see Lady Dulcinea in such a place as his private quarters. He would never lay a hand on her, of course, but speaking to her in such a place left his cheeks aflame.

It was so terribly inappropriate, but she would not accept his request when he tried to escort her to a more appropriate location for a conversation between them. 

Dulcinea and her lady friend told Don Quixote that he must stay within his room. For there were three women within the room. His Lady Dulcinea, her friend, and a maid who for some strange reason seemed terribly cross with him any time he tried to speak with her. 

He was to stay and watch over them, to protect them from whatever dangers could come up and threaten their safety. He accepted the job graciously, and made an effort to entertain the ladies while they waited for the danger outside to pass. 

He told them stories of his many adventures and the perilous beasts he had faced. He spoke of honor and courage, the merits of charity, and his own personal hopes for a brighter future. 

Don Quixote had reached the crescendo of his tales when he encountered a few more surprise guests. 

With the help of a burly soldier (or a knight, perhaps? She was certainly powerful enough) he was escorted down from his platform, and came face to face with a familiar ally. 

Or so he thought. It had seemed so clear in the moment, that his faithful squire had turned up to assist him with his duties, but he was corrected only a moment later that the man he faced was not his beloved friend, but a priest. 

A priest! Of course! A holy man, sent to aid him on his quest. To guide him forward on his path of righteousness, to connect him to the Goddess’s wishes from above. 

But if that was a priest, wherever could his loyal squire have gone? 

He was redirected to another member of the party, and sized the man up. 

Don Quixote had not been adequately prepared for the vision in front of him. 

That pale skin. The dark clothing. Golden-green eyes that pierced through his very soul, that would have caused a weaker man to fall shaking to his knees. 

It was none other than the dreaded Enchanter. Standing right before him. 

The fiend! He had certainly come to face off against Don Quixote, taking the battle right to his doorstep instead of waiting for the knight to seek him out. 

If battle is what he sought, Don Quixote had no qualms about providing him with his heart’s desires. 

He began to look around for something to arm himself with. There was a roomful of innocents to protect! He required a blade with which to strike the villain down, before he could do any harm to his comrades, or his beautiful Lady Dulcinea. 

And then, another clarification. This time from another stranger whose rang somewhat familiar in his mind. (His niece, perhaps? Did he have a niece? He could not quite recall). 

To his surprise, he was informed that his squire, the very man he had been seeking out, stood before him. Not the Enchanter. 

It took Don Quixote a moment to see it, but at least his vision cleared. 

There he was! His squire, his partner, his oldest and most dearest friend. Sancho Panza! In the flesh! 

It occurred to Don Quixote that the reason for the man’s delay must have been due to his duties. Sancho always rose first in the morning, to polish their swords and armor, to care for the horses, and do anything else needed to they could set off as soon as the knight rose from his slumber. 

As reliable and vigilant as ever. There was no squire quite like Sancho. Loyal, hardworking, and formidable in his own right. 

Although he was thankful for the presence of his squire, there was too much work to be done to celebrate. 

Surely, if the Enchanter had indeed shown his face, Don Quixote would have battled him with no hesitation. That was the duty of a knight! To face your foes with bravery, even in the face of failure. 

But if he had been forced to do battle with the Enchanter, it would be a most difficult victory. 

He did not have any of the tools required for proper combat. 

He had his squire, and his horse, but he was unaware of where his suit of armor had gone to. He surely had a sword around somewhere, but a foe as powerful as The Enchanter would surely not fall when struck with a weapon that was not imbued with holy powers. 

He required a proper shield, perhaps a blessed lance, and a helm befitting a man of his nobility and virtues. 

All which would surely be acquired in due time. He would not rest, would not so much a blink, until he was properly equipped and prepared to face off against the injustices of the world. 

For he was Don Quixote! 

Protector of the innocent! Righter of wrongs! 

There was no task too perilous for him. No force that could quell his fighting spirit. No man or beast that could best him in battle. 

His destiny was calling him! And he would meet it, sword in hand, to ensure that virtue would triumph! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's chapter two!!!!! As you can see, there is going to be a theme here! Two chapters posted at a time, from dual points of view. Ferdinand's POV will always be a bit more concise than Hubert's, to avoid over-explaining plot points. But I hope the extra tid-bit of storyline will add to the overall experience? 
> 
> The next chapter is already written, but I'm going to wait a day or two to post it, so there's less of a gap between the second and third installments!!! 
> 
> Off to a bit of a slow start, but things will pick up in chapter three. ;] Hope you like the concept!!!! As per usual, even if I don't reply to every one because I dont want to flood the comments. Every bit of feedback is INCREDIBLY appreciated!!!!! If you have thoughts on what you'd like to see, comments on what you liked, or Man of la Mancha thoughts, PLEASE feel free to shout at me!!!!


	3. Golden Helmet of Mambrino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACK WITH THE UPDATES!!!! 
> 
> Special note for this chapter!! 
> 
> I didn't have one for the first chapter, but a friend of mine helped me with the next two chapters by beta-reading for me! The biggest thanks to @michaelaquest on twitter!!! THANK YOU KIND SOUL 
> 
> Now that the intro chapter is over I can start digging into that REAL ASS man of la mancha lore, hell ye

Ferdinand von Aegir, at his best, was still a handful. 

He was competent, sure. He could be trusted with tasks, was a formidable force on the battlefield, and greatly helped to boost the morale of the people who worked around him. 

Even with these skills, he could still be terribly exhausting. He was strongly opinionated and had no qualms about speaking his mind. He was a never-ending spring of energy and determination. Competitive, with an unwavering resolve. 

But if Ferdinand von Aegir was a handful, Ferdinand von Quixote was an absolute nightmare. 

He was all of the most boisterous parts of Ferdinand, with none of the maturity he had gained over the years that Hubert had known him. It was like being re-introduced to a young Ferdinand, the one from their academy days, yet somehow even more difficult to handle. 

For one, it was impossible to keep the man still. Of course, Hubert agreed that Ferdinand needed bedrest, and he had done everything within his powers to try to ensure that. He tried to convince Ferdinand that he truly was injured and needed to stay put in the infirmary bed. He had tried bargaining with the man, promising him anything his heart desired if he did not move. 

Everything short of strapping Ferdinand down.

Each time Hubert had accomplished getting Ferdinand back into the bed, the man would be on his feet less than a minute later, back to delivering a grandiose monologue about his duty and moral code. 

As if the constant motion was not grating enough, Ferdinand had also developed a habit of suddenly breaking out into song. 

Hubert had gone through many turmoils in life. He was a master of resisting interrogations. An iron gate that could not be felled. He had been cut and poisoned and starved, endured everything that could possibly force a man to lose his will to live. But Hubert had never felt as close to the edge of madness than he did in the first 6 hours he spent with Ferdinand von Quixote. 

Hubert was sitting at Manuela’s desk, his third empty coffee cup placed before him, next to a half-finished report that would surely not be completed by the end of the day. 

He had not brought anything too dense or complex with him. All he had to do was add up the amount of limestone that had been used during the previous week in the reconstruction of the chapel. 

But Hubert required silence in order to focus on such matters, and Ferdinand had proved to be an endless source of babbling. Whether or not Hubert spoke to him, Ferdinand filled the air with the sound of his voice, stopping only for an intake of air before continuing with his one sided conversations. 

Hubert reached the end of his limits when Ferdinand began to break into ‘I, Don Quixote’ for the third time that day. 

He was standing on top of a chair. Again. One hand to his chest, the other raised valiantly into the sky, as he bellowed through the infirmary. 

“ _ I am I, Don Quixote, _

_ The Lord of la Mancha! _

_ My destiny calls and I go, _

_ And the wild winds of fortune _

_ Will carry me onward, _

_ Oh whither soever they _ -”

“My Lord!” Hubert cut in, raising his voice to combat the volume of Ferdinand’s belting. Once the man stopped singing, Hubert let out a small sigh of relief. 

“Would it please you to go for a stroll around the grounds of the monastery?” he asked. 

Truly, keeping Ferdinand inside of the infirmary was the most advisable option. But if Hubert had to sit through one more reprise of that song, he would have thrown either Ferdinand or himself from the infirmary window. Either way, it would not be an advantageous outcome. 

Ferdinand grinned from ear to ear. He jumped down from the chair, striding towards the door immediately. 

“A most excellent recommendation, Sancho! There is much to be done, and time waits for no man!” he declared, throwing the door of the infirmary open as Hubert hurried to catch up with him. “Is Rocinante saddled and prepared for our journey?” 

“You can’t remember the name of your Emperor, but you recall the name of your horse?” Hubert asked dryly. It then occurred to him that Ferdinand, years before the head injury he suffered, might have actually named his own horse after Don Quixote’s noble fictional steed. 

“But of course! A horse is as vital to a knight as his own sword and suit of armor,” Ferdinand replied, marching off down the hallway leading to the stairs. 

Hubert followed along a few paces behind him, quietly pondering how strongly Edelgard would disapprove of Hubert attaching a leash and harness to Ferdinand, and whether the punishment for such an act would outweigh the benefits. 

* * *

Hubert had somehow managed to convince Ferdinand that his horse would not be required for their journey, so the two set off on foot. 

He allowed Ferdinand to march around the grounds of Garreg Mach, gently re-directing the man when he began to wander towards an area that held too many sharp objects or dangerous obstacles. 

All of the soldiers and merchants had been informed of Ferdinand’s condition, so their actions were not questioned, though they did still catch plenty of curious glances as they made their way around the former academy. Ferdinand stopped several times to speak to some of the people they passed. He offered his services and assistance to soldiers and offered kind words and high praise to any ladies they passed that were not in their armor. 

The people who spoke to Ferdinand gently humored him, but not too much, not wishing to invoke the wrath of the ever-present dark shadow that loomed behind the man. 

Eventually they made their way into the marketplace. Hubert kept Ferdinand towards the front end of the market, drawing his attention away from the stalls that sold weapons and arms. It was a comfortable section, where the only things he could get his hands on were fruits and trinkets, each of which he gave the highest praise and appreciation. 

Ferdinand had been in the middle of complimenting what he perceived as a most well-crafted handkerchief, truly befitting of the most noble of ladies. The cavalier was quite insistent on the fact that it was a fine garment, even after both Hubert and the merchant selling the cloth referred to it as a dishrag several times. 

Suddenly Ferdinand stopped mid-sentence. His mouth hung open slightly, and he nearly dropped the cloth in his hands to the ground. 

“What is it?” Hubert asked him, gently taking the dish-rag from his hands and returning it to the merchant who had allowed Ferdinand to inspect it. 

“... do you not see it, Sancho?” Ferdinand asked, voice quivering ever so slightly. He raised a hand, pointing out something across the small courtyard. “There. Right there. In this castle, of all places. Could it truly be?” he asked. 

And off he went, weaving through the crowd with renewed vigor. Hubert followed after him, close at his heels, ready to pry away whatever dangerous object Ferdinand was surely about to pick up. 

Thankfully, the object he had set his sights on was no weapon. He crossed over to a stall, stopping just in front of a bowl of magical seals. He seemed shaken to his core, reaching aside and strongly grasping onto Hubert’s arm to steady himself. 

“My eyes have not deceived me… but how? Such a grand and ancient treasure, sitting before me as though it were a mere trifle,” he said. 

Hubert raised an eyebrow, inspecting the collection of seals. 

“They certainly are valuable, though I will remind you that you have already been promoted to a Holy Knight. You shall find this collection of treasure is superfluous for a man of your training,” Hubert commented. 

“My poor, simple-minded Sancho. Do you not see what is directly before you?” 

Hubert did not appreciate being called simple-minded. But before he could raise a complaint about Ferdinand’s words, the other man picked up the bowl of seals and turned it over, spilling its contents out onto the floor. 

“Hey!” a red-headed merchant cried, marching over the moment Ferdinand upended the bowl. “What do you think you’re doing with my merchandise!? If you broke any of those, you’re paying for it!” she shouted. 

Ferdinand inspected the new arrival carefully before speaking. 

“You there! Disclose thy occupation. Art thou a knight?” he asked. 

“A knight? Hmmm… nope. I have some sisters who are knights, but we’re all merchants first and foremost. This is my stand, and  _ you _ just dumped all of my master seals into the mud,” she replied in a scolding tone. 

This was, apparently, the wrong answer to Ferdinand’s question. 

“Insolent knave!” Ferdinand declared, clutching the bowl to his chest, prepared to protect the metal husk with his life. “What are you doing with this holy relic? Keeping it in such a dishonorable location… absolutely disgraceful!” 

“Relic?” the merchant asked, looking at the item clutched firmly in Ferdinand’s arms. “... That’s a bowl.” 

“A bowl? A bowl?! If you take me for a fool, you have made a grievous error! I know the true value of this treasure that you have attempted to disguise amongst your wares. This is none other than the Golden Helmet of Mambrino! It belongs with a knight, who shall use its powers for good, not with a crooked thief!” Ferdinand declared. 

“If you wish to take it from me, you are most welcome to make an attempt. You are a woman, so I will not strike you. But I shall use every other power within my grasp to defend this relic!” Ferdinand said, after shifting the bowl in his grasp so he could remove one of his gloves, throwing it full-force at the feet of his newly-appointed foe. 

“Thief?!” The merchant cried out furiously. “Hey, I do fair business here! And if you keep running your mouth like that, I won’t hesitate to do a bit of ‘striking’ of my own-” 

The conversation was quickly getting out of hand, so Hubert intervened. He stood before Ferdinand, addressing him first. 

“ _ You _ . Stand your ground,” he commanded. Once he was sure Ferdinand was not moments from leaping to action, he added “... I shall speak to the merchant on your behalf. You may keep hold of your prize, just… don’t go anywhere.” 

Ferdinand gave him a nod of understanding. Once Hubert had turned his back to Ferdinand and walked off to speak with the merchant, Ferdinand turned to the nearest customer of the marketplace. 

“Legends have spoken of it, but I never thought I would see it with my own eyes… the Golden Helmet of Mambrino! A treasure blessed by the holy Goddess herself, imbued with the ability to make a wearer who is of noble heart and worthy of its blessing completely invulnerable to all attacks!” he boasted. 

“Oh… yes. I… I see,” said the poor hostage, already seeking an escape from the conversation. 

Hubert approached the merchant wearily, speaking in a hushed tone so his words would not be overheard by Ferdinand. 

“... how much for the bowl?” he asked, already reaching to the satchel of coins at the side of his belt. 

“Bowl’s not for sale,” she said, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. “It isn’t worth enough to bother finding a replacement for it. The master seals your friend dumped on the ground, on the other hand, are  _ very _ expensive, and have just lost quite a bit of value.” 

Hubert had heard tales of this travelling merchant. Anna, he believed her name was. She held onto some of the most valuables wares in the market, but was notoriously stingy and difficult to bargain with. Ferdinand had chosen the worst possible candidate to anger. 

The only way to reason with her was gold. So he detached his purse, already pulling gold coins from it to prove that he could afford her forgiveness. 

“They’ve been muddied, but not crushed. If you allow him to keep the bowl, I’ll pay you one-fourth the value of the seals. You can wash them off, and still sell them at full price,” Hubert offered. 

Anna’s eyebrows pushed together on her head, humming as she thought about the offer. 

“... Three fourths of their total value, and you come by later tonight to clean them off for me,” she said. 

Hubert wanted so terribly to keep haggling with her. He knew that with his wit, he could easily talk her down to an appropriate price for the muddied seals with none of the physical labor, but Ferdinand’s conversation partner had already walked off, and Hubert could see the man about to wander away as well. 

“Fine,” he spat out, pressing the full purse into the merchant’s hands. “Count it yourself. If there’s not enough to cover the charges, I shall pay the rest when we meet again.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you~” she said, delightfully pleased with the end result of their bargain. 

All expenses paid, Hubert was finally free to run off after Ferdinand, who had made it back to the front steps of the main hallway by the time Hubert caught up to him. 

“Ah, Sancho! There you are!” Ferdinand exclaimed once Hubert reappeared at his side. “I trust you’ve taken adequate care of the scoundrel? Excellent work!” 

Hubert, who had just given away a few thousand pieces of gold in exchange for a metal bowl, was no longer in a ‘strolling’ sort of mood. 

“The bowl is yours to keep,” he said, all kindly patience gone from his voice. “That is enough adventuring for one day. Come. We are going back to the infirmary.” 

“I suppose we have completed our rounds of the castle grounds. Very well…. But first!” Ferdinand said, moving off to the side of the path, holding the bowl in his hands once more. “I must affix the Golden Helmet of Mambrino onto my head, as is customary of a knight.” 

“Ferdinand-” 

“I must! The helm has been away from a proper beholder for too long. I cannot allow one more moment to pass without seeing it equipped to a proper suitor!” Ferdinand responded. 

Hubert pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. He took deep, even breaths. Several of them. He imagined himself surrounded by peace and quiet and plenty of books and scrolls, instead of standing next to a bumbling idiot who was about to put a basket on his head. 

“Fine,” Hubert finally said. “Fine. If you want to wear the bowl so badly, do it. Afterwards, we are going straight back to the infirmary for the remainder of the day.” 

“Huzzah!” Ferdinand shouted triumphantly, before his expression turn a more serious turn. 

Ferdinand took a few steps away from Hubert, lowering himself down onto one knee on the ground. He raised the bowl slowly above his head, lining it up with the sun in the sky. He held it there for a few moments, basking in its glory, before he began to speak. 

“The Golden Helmet of Mambrino, ancient relic, glorious antiquity. In the name of the Goddess above, and in the name of my fair Dulcinea, I offer you my strength. Sit upon the crown of my head, protect me from evil, and I shall serve your holy purpose with the full power of my knightly spirit, my courage, my wisdom, and the goodness of my heart. With this blessing I shall protect those who cannot protect themselves, fight for those who cannot fight, and speak for those who have no tongue. Protect me, thou holiest of treasures, and I shall use that protection to spread the teachings and blessings of the Goddess,” Ferdinand recited. 

After his speech ended, he began to lower the bowl. Ever so slowly. Ceremoniously. With utmost respect and gratitude. 

The bowl eventually ended up placed on top of his head, the leather strap that served as a handle for the container placed delicately under his chin. 

Once the bowl was in place, Ferdinand removed his hands from it. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands before him in prayer, muttering his thanks to the Goddess. 

Hubert leaned against a nearby wall the entire time as he watched the ceremony, finally speaking up when it seemed that the ritual had come to a proper close. 

“... There. Are you satisfied?” he asked. 

“Quite!” Ferdinand responded, eyes snapping open, back on his feet again in no time. 

“Well, Sancho? How do I look?” he asked, posing for Hubert’s evaluation of his newly acquired treasure.

“You look like a fool with a bowl on his head,” Hubert responded. 

Ferdinand laughed mightily at that. 

“Your words are as sharp as ever, Sancho! Such splendid proverbs. Come now! The Golden Helmet of Mambrino has been returned to its proper place! Now we must away, to-” 

“To the infirmary.” Hubert reminded him, sternly. 

“... Ah. I suppose I did give you my word,” said Ferdinand, clearly not thrilled with the notion. “If you have grown weary of our efforts today, I cannot blame you! I shall accompany you back to our lodgings, so that you may properly rest.” 

“How considerate of you,” Hubert said. The heavy sarcasm in his voice, yet again, was not picked up on by Ferdinand. 

So off they went, back to the safety of the infirmary, Ferdinand strutting through the halls with even more confidence than he had previously exhibited, despite the many looks of confusion and concern that followed them.


	4. Golden Helmet of Mambrino, side B

Thus, the trials and tribulations of Don Quixote continued. 

The castle that had granted him sanctuary on his quest was most accommodating. Though he insisted that he needed little and wanted for nothing, the Lord of the castle had provided him with his few own serving maid. 

The very one he had met previously upon his reunion with his Dulcinea. 

Though she was short of temper, and excessively hedonistic with the amount that she drank, she was truly dutiful when caring for him. 

During their first night being acquainted with one another, Maid Manuela often asked him if there was anything he should require. 

Still, Don Quixote rejected her every offer. He had already been provided with a hot meal, a comfortable bed, and fresh drinking water. To ask anything more of his hosts would have been far too indulgent for a man of his position. 

For that was the vow of a knight. To never take anything more than what one needs. To never request more than the humblest offerings. Not when there were so many people in the world who were left wanting, starved and depraved. 

Their interactions had started off quite tensely. It seemed that Don Quixote could not make it past a handful of words before stumbling upon some phrase or commentary that brought a sour look to the woman’s face. 

Just when the situation was at its most grim, when the thought of a turnaround seemed impossible, a breakthrough occurred. 

Maid Manuela was a few drinks into her evening, clutching onto her goblet like a lifeline. Though she was still technically upright, she was half draped over the back of her chair, clothing and hair gone terribly askew. 

“You think I’m too old, don’t you?” she had asked, pointing an accusatory finger towards the knight-errant. “You take one look at me, and you must think… ‘Goddess above! Look at that wench’. You don’t have to lie to me, I know I’m not getting any younger.” 

Don Quixote had only been seated for but a moment. But at the sound of those words, he could not help but spring back onto his feet. 

“Absolutely not!” he answered incredulously. 

“Pah!” the maid responded, spilling some of her wine out of her cup as she threw her hand up in denial. 

“I mean it!” he had insisted. “I am an earnest man. I would never tell a lie! Surely you are no longer a maiden, but there is no shame in such a thing. Are you not only a maid, but an accomplished healer as well?” 

“... I am,” Manuela responded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind one of her ears. 

“It is a difficult field of study. That knowledge has been earned through many years of hard work and dedication. You see yourself and your worth as a flower. Something that sprouts, then blooms, then withers away into nothingness. But I see nothing of the sort. I see a woman who is like a… a fine wine! A powerful fluid that only grows more potent and more refined over time,” Don Quixote explained. 

Still, the maid frowned. 

“Then why hasn’t any man taken interest in me, hmm? If I am as ‘valuable’ as you claim,” she responded, leaning forward. 

“The world is full of blind men, my fair Maid Manuela. They boast a great deal about their valor and their courage, yet shirk away from any flame powerful enough to threaten their confidence. The reason you have not yet met a man willing to indulge in you is because you have only encountered the weakest of the flock. Stay true to yourself, and surely one day there shall be one who is worthy of your grace,” he said. 

That sentiment caused the woman to blush. 

“... my goodness, such kind words,” she muttered. 

“Not kindness, my lady, but the truth! Were I not already smitten by the graces of another, I would surely be on my knees before you. And if any man should disrespect you in the future, you need only call upon the name of Don Quixote. I shall arrive posthaste, and they shall rue the day their insolence dared to insult your noble spirit!” 

They spent some time conversing after that. Maid Manuela told Don Quixote many tales of the men who had wronged her, and he in turn explained in great detail the error of their ways and the thrashing he would have certainly given them if he had been present in those moments. 

Don Quixote was most pleased by the high spirits that Maid Manuela was in by the end of the night and the kinship they had formed with one another. 

Sadly, the maid had indulged too much in her goblet. By the end of the evening, the drink had taken hold of her. She swayed in her seat, her body threatening to lose consciousness before her mind could catch up to her actions. 

Don Quixote acted, as was customary of a gentleman. He gathered her into his arms, transporting her from her seat to an available cot within the room. Once she was safely laying down, he drew the blankets over her. 

She was snoring before he could even finish tucking her in. 

“Sweet dreams, fair maiden,” he whispered. 

Though she grumbled and reached up in her sleep, lightly striking him across the face with the back of her hand, Don Quixote knew that he had done the right thing, and that his actions were appreciated. 

Truthfully, he had half a mind to leave the room in that moment. There was much to be done, after all. If he could only find his squire, he would be able to travel out of the castle before daybreak and start on his quest to glory.

But she was so vulnerable. Weakened by an excess of alcohol. If someone were to happen upon these lodgings during the night, she would surely be unable to defend herself. 

So Don Quixote stayed. He kept a vigilant guard over the room for as long as he could before the siren song of exhaustion finally overtook him. He returned to his own bed then, said a thankful prayer to the Goddess for her protection, and drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning he was graced by the presence of his squire, just as Maid Manuela took her leave. 

Finally! Now was the time for action! 

To his surprise, Sancho, who had always followed him eagerly into battle, was suddenly hesitant about setting out on their quest. 

“My Lord!” he begged. “You have suffered a terrible injury. You are not well. You are weak, and must rest if you are to regain your strength.” 

“Weak? Never!” Don Quixote insisted. “You say I am weak, but I have never felt more powerful! Even if I were not well, what is sickness to the body of a knight-errant? What matter wounds? For each time he falls, he will rise again, and woe to the wicked when he does!” 

They argued back and forth for some time on the subject. 

“If it is your sword you require, you must have patience. You blade is being repaired from your last battle. If you would only promise to stay put, I could fetch it for you as soon as the repairs are completed,” Sancho bargained. 

“Then I shall find another! The value of a knight is not in the quality of the blade, but the quality of his arm. And my arm is most prepared!” he replied. 

Still, the squire would not go with him. 

Something terrible must have happened. A spell from The Enchanter perhaps, that had sapped the man of his bravery and resolve. 

Don Quixote made his best efforts to remind the man of what they were fighting for. 

He spoke of the needy, the fallen and the desolate. He described the pain he had seen in the world, and how if those wrongs were to be righted, it was up to them to take action. 

He reminded Sancho of who he was. 

Don Quixote! Lord of la Mancha! Who had a destiny, a purpose to fulfill. Who had heard the winds of change, and was obligated to follow them. To Glory! To Justice! 

He was most pleased when his teachings finally struck his friend. With a sudden renewed passion, Sancho suggested they move on from their lodgings to inspect the grounds of the castle. 

It made perfect sense! Surely if the world was filled with woe and misfortune, the castle would be a most excellent place to start their work. They could restore the castle to its former glory before setting off on their quest to the widest reaches of the kingdom. 

So off they went, side by side, to aid anyone in the immediate vicinity who needed their strength. 

They visited many of the common folk and soldiers within the castle grounds. Don Quixote lent his ear and his wisdom to all who needed it. Those who did not need his assistance he made sure to commend for their hard work and valiant efforts. 

He discovered that word had spread of his deeds and the many terrible battles he had crossed. For most of the strangers he encountered inquired as to the state of his health. 

They asked how he was feeling and if he was stilled ailed by the burdens of his most previous skirmish. 

To each he replied the same. He assured them of his good health and that a truly noble knight such as himself could not be held down by any injury. That he did not need a recovery, for he was already at his prime. 

They praised his resilience and his courage, and thanked him graciously for his promise to aid them should they require his strength. 

It was not much in terms of progress, but the interactions still brought great joy to him. For a knight must not only be willing to aid the troubled when they were left wanting, but also to share in their joy when they flourished. Most of the people he met seemed to insist that they were indeed without want and would make it just fine without his aid. 

So he moved forth, to find where his skills were most needed. 

Their journey eventually brought them into the marketplace of the castle. 

There was not much to be done there, but Don Quixote made a thorough inspection of it nonetheless. 

A knight’s job was not done until they turned over every stone, climbed every mountain, explored every cavern. So he made his way through the market with his squire, inspecting the wares, ensuring that no merchant was taking advantage of their customers with unfair deals. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Just as he had picked up a fine silken handkerchief. He turned his head, and he caught sight of a golden shine from across the way. 

At first, he could not believe his eyes. 

They were in a simple marketplace. A place to sell and procure various common goods. There was no way that someone would be so bold as to put on display something of such high value, of such incredible power. 

And yet. The longer his eyes settled on the object, the more he became convinced that it could be nothing else. 

None other than the ancient and holiest of helms, the Golden Helmet of Mambrino. 

It was such a rare sight that even Sancho did not believe him when Don Quixote explained what was before them. Without a pause or hesitation he abandoned his handkerchief, crossing the way to pick up the relic. 

He felt its power coursing through him the moment his fingertips touched the metal of the helmet. There was no mistaking it. He knew the legends of this item as well as he knew the scabbard of a sword. 

But again, how? Such a powerful artifact did not belong in a place like this. It belonged in a heavily guarded vault. It belonged in a cave, twelve hundred feet below the earth’s surface, surrounded by giant eels with pointed fangs. 

More than that, it belonged in the hands of someone who could properly wield its abilities. 

It was a  _ holy _ artifact. It would only grant its powers to those who had sworn their service and their chastity to the Goddess. If it was not with a knight, it would not function. 

The apparent ‘owner’ of the helm arrived on the scene moments later.

A woman appeared before him. Her hair and cloak were the color of fresh blood, and her voice was aggressive and hostile. 

She did not seem to be a knight. But Don Quixote reminded himself that every guilty party deserves a fair chance to prove their innocence. 

So he asked if she was a knight. She replied that she was not. 

And Don Quixote was filled with a righteous fury. 

The Golden Helmet of Mambrino had always been in the possession of a knight. No true knight would have ever given it to anyone who had not taken their vows. 

That left no other option. The so called ‘merchant’ he was faced with was actually a thief and was trying to sell her spoils, knowing full well that something as valuable as a knight’s blessed helmet would fetch a high payout. 

Don Quixote had received the first of the trials he needed to complete in order to prove himself. He had to keep this helmet away from the merchant at all costs. 

No trial is easy, and this one challenged his obedience to the code of chivalry. 

He was confident in his dueling ability. However, his code stated that he was to never lay his hands upon a woman, and certainly forbade striking them. 

If she had been a knight, he would have done battle with her, but she was a common trader. She did not have his strength, or any of his training. Battling with her would be taking advantage of her weakness, an unfair fight that was unbecoming of a gentleman. 

If she wished to attack him, she was welcome to it. Don Quixote would bear the brunt of her strikes. As long as he could keep the helm high enough above his head where she could not reach it, or if he could perhaps cradle it to his chest and shield it with his body, he would be able to accomplish his task without causing any harm to the merchant. 

Such a thing proved to be unnecessary, for he was not a lone warrior, but part of a team. Sancho asked for the chance to try his own tactics, and Don Quixote allowed him the opportunity. 

In the meantime, he noticed another commoner next to him, who had been curiously eyeing the helmet. 

Don Quixote delighted them with an explanation of the helm’s holy powers. 

The commoner was so excited about witnessing the glory of the relic that they did not have the patience to listen to Don Quixote for a moment longer. They left Don Quixote’s side, rushing off to spread the good news to the other commoners gathered at the town square. 

When at last Sancho returned to his side, he came bearing even greater news. The merchant had clearly understood the error of her ways and willingly parted with the golden helmet. 

Don Quixote was most impressed. Sancho had clearly taken his lessons to heart! He had learned that there was value in patience, and that civil conversation could often stop a fight before it had even began. 

The two of them, with their efforts combined, had not only protected the Golden Helmet of Mambrino, but had changed that woman’s life! She was, without a doubt, inspired by their nobility. It would be no time at all before she left her life of crime behind her and turned her focus to more productive activities! 

Poor Sancho had clearly spent the remainder of his energy for the day on reasoning with the hardy lady. He begged his lord to return to their lodgings. 

Sancho had done well, so Don Quixote accepted his wishes. But not before he did what had to be done: returning the helmet to its proper place, donned on the head of a worthy knight. 

A true and proper ceremony of this weight should have taken place in a chapel. But for the sake of his friend, who was weary, whose legs would surely give out from under him before they made it to their destination, Don Quixote decided to complete the ceremony on the spot. 

For wherever a knight steps, the ground becomes holy. 

So Don Quixote moved aside to an adequately empty space, and began the ritual. 

He knelt on the ground and raised the helmet to the sky. He gave thanks to the Goddess, vowed to uphold her teachings, to protect her people, and to strive ever-forward towards a brighter future. 

He lowered the Golden Helmet of Mambrino onto his head, and the ritual was complete. 

He was now invincible. No sword would be able to cut his flesh. No flail would be able to crush his limbs. No chain would be able to bind him. 

Filled with renewed vigor, Don Quixote wanted nothing more than the test the limits of his new strength. A full troupe of bandits would suffice, or perhaps a nearby dragon. A proper battle! To prove his worth and his dedication to his cause! 

Sadly, Sancho was not filled with the same anticipation or heavenly power. Sancho was an average man, of common endurance. Not only did he need to rest, he would also need Don Quixote’s assistance to guide his way back to their lodgings. 

For the sake of the man who had helped to procure the helmet, Don Quixote conceded. For a squire was much like a sword. If one did not take care of it, did not allow it to be repaired when it was weakened, it would surely break from the strain of battle and no longer be able to fulfill its purpose. 

Once Sancho was properly rested, they would be able to set out on their quest. 

Victory was on the horizon! For with his blessed helmet, his pure heart, and the assistance of his loyal friend, Don Quixote was sure to succeed in whatever endeavors he attempted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes part 2 of Man of von Aegir! In he next episode: Ferdinand fights a pond-monster. Hubert is NOT happy about it. 
> 
> NGL I'm really enjoying writing this buffonery. Hope y'all are enjoying yourselves as well!!! 
> 
> I know there ARE some man of la mancha buffs out there so if you catch any of my direct references / quotes from the play, you KNOW I slipped those in on porpoise ;;;;;)))))


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